


You Fought Me; You Won Me

by all_of_the_trash



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Drabbles, M/M, chronological order but they don't have to be read as a set, does roger is a faerie? who knows, implied supernatural content, some will be sad fair warning, these vary in rating and warnings so warnings will be at the beginning of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 01:10:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17519312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_of_the_trash/pseuds/all_of_the_trash
Summary: Jimercury drabbles across the years.Title taken from Mercury and Me





	You Fought Me; You Won Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> c. 1969  
> Roger plays matchmaker for a frustrated Freddie and a confused Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rated G/T, (mild language), no warnings. could be Freddie/Roger + Freddie/Jim or Freddie/Roger/Jim if you squint.

The beginnings of autumn chill seeped into the late summer breeze as Jim walked along. Kensington was bustling that day, and certainly not his usual scene, but some inexplicable drive pulled him along until he found himself staring down the market.

Well. He needed to do  _some_ shopping to get settled in London. Steeling himself against the crowds, he stepped inside.

Thankfully, the crowds were surprisingly light. Most people had opted to stay outside on such a day, making Jim wonder why he himself was inside at all. Logical as the thought may be, he just couldn't bring himself to step back outside just yet. Some unknown will tugged him through a floor and a half of stalls before a flash of pink glitter in the corner of his vision caught his eye and drew him in.

"You like what you see?"

Jim did his best to ignore the obvious innuendo as he took in the source of the voice- the pink glitter was from their shoes, which were propped up on the front table of the stall in a way that was both endearing and unprofessional. They were small and delicate, doll-like even, looking almost like Paul McCartney in a ratty blond wig, with a high voice obviously roughened by cigarettes. If you'd put a gun to Jim's head and told him to guess whether the speaker was male or female, he'd tell you to just take the fecking shot already.

"Not sure what I'm seeing, to be perfectly honest."

They smiled and pulled their feet off the table to lean forward and offer their hand. "Roger Taylor, co-owner of this stall. You might be?"

He took their (his?) hand cautiously. "Jim Hutton."

"New around here, are you?" Roger's eyes sparkled dangerously as he spoke. "Think I'd recognize a face like yours if I'd seen it before."

Was Roger really flirting with him? Out here in broad daylight? The idea twisted a knot in his gut, both nervous and pleasant. Roger was attractive (not entirely his type, but easy on the eyes nonetheless), but he'd never had a man take such an obvious interest in him in public. "Just got here from Carlow. What would you recommend for a lost Irish lad just starting out in this town?"

Roger's eyes flickered, giving him a once-over and grinning wildly. "Well, it does get quite a bit colder here than you might expect," he said through a barely-restrained giggle. It was, on some level, terrifying. "Perhaps a new coat?"

 _I suppose I'll bite_ , Jim thought to himself. "A coat, you say? What advantage could your fancy English coats possibly have over what I might have worn back home?"

"Come on inside the stall and maybe I can show you," Roger tried to croon, but it came out broken up over his poorly-suppressed laugh.

It was so corny and ridiculous. There was no way it wasn't a line, and a bad one at that, but yet again some inexplicable force drew Jim further in.

Roger looked around for a few moments before a mad grin broke across his face and he looked up at Jim fully. "We're all alone here," he giggled.

Blushing, he tried to turn the conversation back. "So what about these all-powerful English rags is so special I needed a coat from here and not from home?"

The blond's smile turned warm and affectionate, a surprising gesture, though there was still some mischief behind those eyes. "That's just it, Jim Hutton," he began. "This _is_ your home now. Sure, you came here from... Carlow, was it? But that's your past. A coat's always warmer when it comes from home, and why not the home you're making right here?"

"There's more to you than meets the eye, isn't there Roger Taylor?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Just as there is to you. Which is why..." Roger trailed off as he spun, digging through clothes for a moment before pulling out a truly hideous fur coat, "I think you're best suited to this one. There's  _quite a bit_ more to it than meets the eye as well."

Jim didn't want to take it. He didn't even want to touch it. It was flea-bitten from the looks of it, fluffy in all the wrong places and coloured as ugly as original sin. And yet. His desire to not disappoint the little cunt who was offering it to him outweighed his desire to not look ridiculous for having so much as touched the patchy fur. "What do I owe you?" he found himself saying despite himself.

Roger shrugged again, an evil smirk beginning to spread across his face. "Nothing. Go ahead and take it, trust me."

Well that was a Fey deal if he'd ever heard one. Guaranteed to change his life forever, and probably in an unpleasant and embarrassing way. Absolutely ridiculous. 100% cursed and a terrible idea.

What else could he do?

Jim walked away from the stall, the coat stretched over his broad shoulders awkwardly.

* * *

"I swear Rog, darling, you are the last good man in this town," Freddie sighed dramatically as he entered the stall with the remains of his lunch, a little set aside for Roger as well. "I'll never get a steady boyfriend at this rate, not unless I leave London."

"That bad, was he?"

Freddie flopped into the nearest chair. "You have no idea. I'm never going on a date again."

Roger stood up and paced over to Freddie's chair, curling up in his lap and wrapping his arms around Freddie's neck. "You're so cold, Fred. In more than one way."

Freddie shrugged. "Forgot my coat. You haven't seen it, have you?"

"The fur?" Roger did his best to hide a growing smirk. "Not in the last few minutes."

There was a less than delicate thud as Freddie pushed Roger from his lap, letting out a soft "oof" as he hit the ground. "You didn't!"

"I didn't know it was yours!" It might have been a convincing lie if he weren't giggling.

"The one I wear every day with my initials stitched into the collar?!?" He fumed.

"If it makes you feel any better-"

"It doesn't."

"- I was going to say that the bloke who bought it went that way, and couldn't have gone far."

Freddie grumbled as he stood, heading in the direction Roger had pointed and mumbling something that sounded quite a bit like "wanker" under his breath.

"I love you," Roger called, and was met with a two-fingered salute.

Outside, Freddie sprinted through the crowd, too busy watching for the coat to pay attention to important things like where he was going or what was underfoot. Briefly, his life flashed before his eyes as an uneven spot in the floor caught on the heel of his platform boot and sent him falling-

Only to be caught by a pair of strong, warm arms covered in familiar patchy fur.

Nope. This wasn't real. He must have hit the ground and passed out or something, because there was no way a man that attractive had actually just saved him from falling.

The man blushed. "You think I'm attractive?"

Oh. Freddie wasn't sure which was going to make him blush harder, the fact that he'd said that out loud, or the man's adorable Irish accent. Both maybe. Both is good.

"Terribly sorry," Freddie began, "I think my friend might have sold you my coat by mistake. A few stalls back? Blond, big eyes, could make a real pretty bird if he'd shut up?"

The man giggled,  _bismillah_ , that might be the prettiest sound Freddie had ever heard. "That sounds about right. Is this-?" He gestured to the coat.

Freddie nodded. "There should be an FB stitched into the back of the collar- that's me. Freddie Bulsara. I'm so sorry, I'm sure Roger must have driven a hard bargain for it, that cunt,"

The man laughed softly again, shaking his head before looking Freddie up and down. "That's quite alright, I suppose I could be persuaded to part with it, if..."

Freddie's breath caught in his throat. "If?"

"If you'll call me tomorrow." He smiled warmly and pulled a pen from his pocket, taking Freddie's hand and scribbling onto his palm. Gently he blew on the ink to let it dry, then released the hand and kept on walking. Freddie stared dumbfounded at the writing. There was a number followed by "-Jim x".

* * *

"So how did it go?"

"Piss off."

"Strong words from someone with hearts for eyes. Met Jim, did you?"

Freddie tried hard not to blush, opting to fold his arms crossly. "You set me up."

"Anything for you, love." Roger grinned sickly-sweet. Freddie elected to ignore this, letting his heart skip a beat as he traced Jim's writing with his eyes.

 


End file.
